Lie To Me
by alansquill
Summary: “Zeljan,” she began, “might I introduce our latest level of penetration into MI6?” Alex Rider owes Scorpia a favor. He also has an aunt with questionable loyalties and an assassin living in his house. What could go wrong? Post Snakehead
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: The great and mighty Anthony Horowitz owns all that you recognize.

Lights twinkle.

_Ian was always home for Christmas Eve_, Alex thought, hanging another ornament on the tree. The varnish gently shone, lit by the fire busily crackling in the hearth. Alex remembered the year Ian had brought the fragile filigree back with him. _After he returned from Germany_, he thinks, and snorts, because it was so damn obvious at the time but he was too damn obsessed with his oh-so-complicated life that turned out to be quite simple compared to what his life is like now.

Alex picks the next ornament up. It's much older than the last, and crudely made. _I made this_, he remembers. _For Mum, because I thought she could see me from her perch up in heaven. But there's no after, is there? Just emptiness_. He shakes his head to clear the thought from his mind.

From the kitchen Jack sighs, a little frown creasing her forehead. She stands, half-hidden in shadow, wondering exactly what was running through Alex's mind. _That boy has changed so_, she thinks. The microwave beeps, reminding her that the instant cocoa she picked up from the store is a poor substitute for family. The kitchen is lit by flickering candles, a tradition begun in the distant annals of Rider history. She carefully takes the mug out, setting it on the counter to cool while searching for the marshmallows. "Alex!" she calls, "The cocoa's ready."

Alex, startled out of his reverie, moves toward the kitchen. It's dark and he frowns, remembering the last time the kitchen was dark. A troubling, nagging thought comes to mind, and Alex brushes it away, determined not to let anything else cause him to wallow in his misery further. As he crosses over the slight bump between the two rooms that always causes Jack, but never him, to trip, he cocks his head slightly, listening. Silence descends.

In a small room on the other side of the world, a figure faced a window, awaiting the delivery of a package. It would never arrive.

Another figure faced a similar window, this time on a tiny island in the Mediterranean Sea, awaiting the delivery of the same package.

* * *

Early Christmas present! I know I've been AWOL for nearly a year now, and I must apologize. You see, the real world caught up. College applications. AP exams. Pesky siblings and nosy parents. In short, the usual.

Well? I thought I'd try my hand at something different, mixing the tenses and seeing how it the story flowed. For those of you wondering about All In the Family, I think I've pretty much given up. My muse has abandoned me for that particular story.

As for the somewhat angsty tone in the beginning, it won't all be like that, promise. I just wanted a nice hook, which obviously worked if you're reading this.

Reviews make the world go 'round.


	2. Chapter 2

DISCLAIMER: The great and mighty Anthony Horowitz owns all that you recognize.

"Alex," a voice without accent purred as he felt himself dumped on the ground. "So good of you to drop by."

Alex blinked slowly, trying to adjust himself to the bright light streaming through the window. A wave of nausea swept over him as he struggled to sit up. He blinked again, this time rolling over as he swallowed with a dry mouth. Finally managing to work himself into an upright position, he squinted at the wavering shadow partially blocking the window. "Terribly sorry, but I don't think we've been properly introduced."

The figure laughed, and Alex was able to determine the speaker was female. "Charming. Rather like your father in that respect. He always did have some sort of quick reply." She began to pace, contemplating. "What to do with you, hm?"

Alex surreptitiously glanced around, attempting to determine his whereabouts. His heart sank when he spotted the familiar landscape of Malagosto. Deciding it best to pretend ignorance, he took the initiative. "Why me? I mean, I'm sure there are lots of other fourteen-year-old spies running around, waiting to be kidnapped by who knows what." He wasn't certain, but the woman seemed to tense for a microsecond before returning to her nonchalant state. He continued, "I never got your name."

She laughed again. The sound grated harshly on Alex's ears. "Kamille, darling. But I'm afraid I'm too old for you." She motioned for the two guards flanking the doorway to exit and closed the door behind them. Alex idly noted the sparse but tasteful décor; the room was done up in a soft cream and periwinkle tones. "You know, you really ought to thank me."

Alex looked up, startled. "For what?"

"Saving your life," she chuckled. At his puzzled look, Kamille elaborated, "Big Circle was planning on doing some rather nasty things to you for exposing their Wimbledon scam. Fortunately, a contact of mine informed me of their plans and I was able to make other arrangements."

She slid open a panel to reveal a television and switched it on. The reporter, oozing charm even through seventeen cable changes, was in the middle of breaking news coverage. "The authorities still have no idea who is behind the attack on China's largest triad, Big Circle, although they suspect a rival crime ring to be involved. The crater created by…" Kamille turned the television off and closed the panel, leaving the wall seamless.

"Why? And what have you done with Jack?" Alex relentlessly questioned. He felt more secure now, a little more confident in the possibility of escape. His eyes darted back and forth, searching for an escape route while he distracted this unknown variable.

Kamille smirked. "Jack? Why, Jack is exactly where you left her, in Chelsea. Did you think we would harm her?"

Not paying too much attention, Alex replied, "You are Scorpia, aren't you? What happened to the assassination part of it?"

Again, Kamille smirked easily, but not before Alex caught a flash of anger. "We reserve that honor for important persons, not American housekeepers. Besides, you'll owe us now. And there will come a time when I will cash in on that debt. But until then, this will be our little secret, yes? After all, we did manage to foil all of the safeguards MI6 had implemented around your residence. We can get to you again if you force us to. Oh, and Alex?"

"What?" he snapped.

"Don't bother trying to escape." She pressed a button on the desk's phone. Within minutes, a familiar face appeared. Alex thought he had rid himself completely of those blue eyes and blond hair.

Yassen.

* * *

Slightly longer than the previous chap, which is good, yeah? One problem: 6 alerts, 2 favorites, 150+ hits, and 1 review on the first chapter. You do the math. I'm not expecting everyone to pour in praise (although feel free to do so), but I would like to know why you decided you wanted to know more. What did I do right to get you interested?

Honestly.

But to the lone reviewer (thanks armanifan101), here's our first glimpse of Yassen! And don't worry, this fic is mostly going to be about Alex uncovering the past and present deceptions, with Yassen as his witty sidekick. Okay, maybe the last part wasn't true, but it'd be interesting to relegate him to that role.

Ideas as to where this is going? Anything you want to see written in? What did you like or not like? Come on, that little button has your name written all over it…

-AQ


	3. Chapter 3

DISCLAIMER: The great and mighty Anthony Horowitz owns all that you recognize.

"_Don't bother trying to escape." She pressed a button on the desk's phone. Within minutes, a familiar face appeared. Alex thought he had rid himself completely of those blue eyes and blond hair._

_Yassen._

When Alex woke up again, he was sprawled on his bed. Blearily blinking, he rolled over and checked the digital clock on the nightstand next to his bed. "8:30!" he exclaimed, sitting up. "Jack! Ja-ack!" He threw his covers off and rushed through the door frantically, only to run headlong into Jack as she came through the doorway. He hugged her tightly, not saying a word.

Jack squeezed back just as tightly. "Alex, where were you?" she asked, her voice partially muffled by Alex's clothing. "What happened?"

"Nothing you need to worry about," the blond boy replied, stiffening a little at the thought of what he owed _those_ people. "What day is it?"

"Day after Christmas. You being you, it _would_ be the one day on which you can act like a normal teenager that you disappear. Which reminds me…" Laughing, she tugged at Alex's arm until he began to follow her to the kitchen. "Close your eyes," she warned as she gently guided the blond boy until he stood in front of the table. "Now open!"

Alex could only gape as what appeared to be a hideously striped sweater lay on the counter. _I really, REALLY hope this is Jack's idea of a gag gift_. Forcing a smile onto his face, he managed to choke out "Oh Jack, you shouldn't have."

"You silly boy," she giggled, affectionately ruffling his hair, "Do you really think I would get something like this for you? It's from your Sabina," she teased.

Alex groaned. "Why on earth she would think I would like something like this is beyond me." Eyeing the brightly colored sweater warily, he tiptoed around it and went to the fridge. "We're out of milk."

"Well, excuse me if I had slightly more important things to worry about."

"Like last-minute gift shopping?"

"Like trying to find you, idiot."

Laughing, Alex tackled Jack with another bear hug, feeling almost normal. The mood was quickly shattered. "Alex, Alan Blunt called. He wanted to see you as soon as you woke up. Any idea what that's about?"

Alex shook his head. "No idea." He hated this. He hated lying to her about so many different things, about the nightmares he sometimes had, so bad that he had to stuff his fist in his mouth just to keep from waking her up. And now he had to lie about this, this latest encounter with Scorpia, so she wouldn't worry and fret more than she already did. Solemn now, he walked over to the coat stand and angrily grabbed a jacket, then began to put it on.

"Alex?" Jack's voice had risen slightly. "What's going on?"

He shrugged, the movement jerky and belligerent. "I told you, I don't know." Then another one of those damnably black cars that screamed "Covert Operations" pulled up, and he walked out without so much as a backwards glance or a thought as to how the driver had known just when to arrive.

* * *

As the elevator doors pinged open, Alex froze. There, coolly chatting with Alan Blunt, was none other than Kamille. Alex opened his mouth to say something, perhaps warn Blunt, when a pair of cold blue eyes transfixed him where he stood. It was too late. For all of his training and instincts and survival in multiple near-death situations, he was going to die. And in, of all places, the headquarters of Military Intelligence 6. He could have laughed at the irony as Kamille drew nearer. Oddly enough, Blunt didn't seem at all concerned.

"Well met, Alex." The voice was teasing, mocking. "You put on quite a show the last time we met."

Dare he hope? "You got lucky that last time, I was pretty close to escaping before your man dragged me out."

She was amused, he could see it. Her lips were twitching, but so were her fingers, and they were awfully close to a slight bulge on her hip….

"Now don't scare the boy to death," Blunt interjected. Alex never thought he would be happier to hear the man than at that moment. Turning to Alex, he introduced Kamille. "This is Agent Triple-Oh."

Now it was Alex stifling a laugh. "Sounds like a cheesy prepackaged pasta item," he quipped before remembering who he was talking to. _Oh dear…_ "Also, she works for Scorpia," he informed Blunt, ever-so-slightly shifting his weight to his back foot, prepared to strike if any threat presented itself.

"Not at all," Kamille smoothly interjected. "Rather, they work for me." At Alex's suspicious look, she continued, "There's a lot to explain, and this isn't exactly the most private area in which to hold delicate conversations." Privately, Alex agreed. The bustling corridor was never empty.

Blunt motioned toward his office door. "Here, use mine," he offered. Alex looked at him oddly. _Since when has Blunt been nice?_

Kamille seemed to be thinking the same thing; she shook her head. "I think we'll use mine," she stated. "No doubt you've planted several recording devices just for this purpose." Ignoring Blunt's outraged look, she escorted Alex to her office before the gray man could utter a word of protest.

* * *

Two whole pages, hurrah! Happy Christmas!

Also, a very heartfelt thanks to everyone who reviewed, particularly prone2dementia and hittocerebattosai for their tips. I do feel that I need to apologize a bit for my last rant last chap and add context: It was a very, very bad day. But that doesn't give me any right to write that way.

Anyway, I think writing is like a marathon. You slowly build up your word count, getting used to longer and longer chapters.

Once again, happy Christmas. Enjoy!


	4. Chapter 4

DISCLAIMER: The great and mighty Anthony Horowitz owns all that you recognize.

* * *

Alex cautiously followed Kamille into her office. Despite what Blunt had said, he still didn't trust her. _After all, how many times has that man been wrong?_

"Sit," Kamille ordered. Alex complied, for all intents and purposes seemingly docile. She perched on the edge of her desk and faced the window, gazing at the people milling about below.

Alex took the opportunity to quickly find potential exits, just in case Kamille decided to go Julia Rothman on him and try to kill him. Satisfied that he had at least two viable escape routes, he cocked his head slightly at the woman before him.

If he had met her on the street, he wouldn't have taken a second look at her. She would have been just another blonde businesswoman. But in the context of the stern office, with the harsh light intermittently piercing the window and creating patches of shadow on her face, she looked older than even Blunt. A thin scar ran vertically from the corner of her right eye to her jaw, the dead skin tight and palely gleaming. Another began from the left side of her neck and curved down below the neckline of her blouse. Dark gray eyes, cold and unforgiving, reminded him of Ian's eyes, Yassen's eyes. They shared the same hardened look of one who has seen and done the unforgiveable without so much as a twitch of conscience. He shuddered.

Kamille was quietly studying Alex as well, although the boy was so engrossed with his own thoughts that he hadn't noticed. He was wary, as a recruit new to the world of covert ops would be before learning the air of nonchalance that comes with practice. His eyes had not yet acquired the steel look. _It's good to know he hasn't been completely ruined by Alan_. He reminded her of John with his slender frame that concealed the power he could produce. And yet, his mannerisms were distinctly Helen, from the way he sprawled in his chair to the way he impatiently twitched his left foot as he began to grow weary of waiting. "So," she began, "you're John and Helen's son."

He straightened slightly at the mention of his parents. "Yes ma'am," he politely replied. _Too polite. Unbecoming of a boy his age._ "Did you know them?"

"I did." The simple statement hung in the air.

Alex shifted. "Well?" He hated this waiting game.

"Perhaps I'd better start with the matter of Yassen." The gray eyes regarded him carefully, gauging his reaction.

"Yes, perhaps you'd better," he returned bitterly. "I believe that the good Mr. Blunt thinks him dead."

"Ah." She picked up a mug on her bare desk, swirling the liquid around before deciding not to drink whatever was in it. "It should stay that way."

Alex's mind raced. Was Kamille perhaps a triple agent? Had she let Scorpia know she worked for MI6 while pretending to be a double agent for Blunt. He tensed slightly, prepared to run as he asked his next question. "And why is that? Don't you work for MI6?"

"Alex," and this time her voice was a little gentler, "it's complicated. It should be enough that I say I'm on your side." She reached for the folder on her desk and drew out a photo, handing it to Alex.

He studied it for a moment, trying to check the play of emotions across his face. It was a picture of four people entangled with each other, arms linked or wrapped around waists and necks. His mother was kissing his father's cheek, one arm wrapped tightly around his waist while the other snaked around a younger, scar-free Kamille. Ian had wrapped an arm around Kamille and perched his chin on top of her head, slouching slightly to do so. His father was poking an arm that threatened his head with rabbit ears – _Ian's arm_ – while playfully attempting to detach Helen. All of them were smiling, the picture of youthful innocence.

Alex wrenched his attention away from the photograph in time to hear Kamille's next words. "I would never truly work for the people who took my sister away."

"Kamille Beckett." His words were stated rather than questioning. "Why are you telling me all this?"

"Because," she drawled, "I'm going to be living with you."

Alex's head shot up. "You're what?" he exclaimed. Calming himself, he continued, "but how will you explain that to Scorpia?"

She smiled thinly, and Alex briefly recalled the wide grin that had once been on that face. "The debt you owe us? I'm cashing that in. Essentially, I'll tell the other board members that I'll pretend to be an unemployed friend of Jack's that needs a place to stay for a while. You and Jack will corroborate my story when MI6 questions you about me, because if you don't, I'll simply kill the two of you." She stood up. "Am I making sense so far?"

Alex nodded. "So you're a board member of Scorpia? How'd you manage that?"

Again, she smiled thinly. "You know of the legend of the phoenix?" When he nodded, she continued, "Just as it dies and is born again, I am as well. I'm one of the few operatives that goes into deep, deep cover for extended periods of time, slowly working my way into the upper echelons of whichever group I need to infiltrate, until I'm trusted absolutely. My agent call sign, triple-oh? That merely refers to my 'ghostlike' presence; my personas seem so real, but it's all tripe and lies."

"So how many missions have you been on?"

"Three. Scorpia's my fourth." At Alex's shocked expression, she explained, "Keep in mind that none of them has taken less than two years to complete. I've been working on Scorpia for the past eight years."

Pausing to absorb all of this information, Alex questioned her. "Why are you telling me this? Does Blunt know?"

She shook her head. "He may know the bare facts of each of my missions, but he certainly doesn't know much. No one does. I keep detailed logs, but those are only opened in the event of my sudden death. And he knows about the cover story I've created to appease Scorpia, but no one else knows, not even Mrs. Jones." She stretched languidly. "Anything else?"

This time it was Alex's turn to shake his head. "Nothing I can think of."

"Good," Kamille replied. "Shall we?" She motioned to the door, allowing Alex to place the photo, face down, on her desk and leave before closing it as she slipped out behind him.

Once in the hall, Alex cracked his fingers. "So what do I get to call you, Auntie?" he teased.

Annoyance flitted across Kamille's visage. "Kamille is fine. I'm not overly fond of the confusing titles associated with family."

Alex smirked. "Ian was the same way. By the way, what was up with you two? You guys seemed awfully close in that photo."

He caught a brief flash of anger in her eyes before it subsided. "We saw each other briefly," she carefully stated. "It didn't work out. We decided we were better off as friends."

"Ah," was all Alex had in reply. The journey down to the street was quiet.

* * *

Kamille drove Alex home. Her car was something he could fall in love with, Alex decided. The silver Porsche Carrera GT was a work of art with its plush leather seats and seamlessly melded curves. "It's not mine," she told him when he gazed longingly at it. "Call it Scorpia's company car. I'd much prefer the sensible Audi S5."

"Still," Alex laughed, "it's gorgeous."

"Hmph," she snorted. "Too flashy for my tastes."

She smoothly pulled out and checked her mirrors as Alex called Jack to explain everything.

* * *

Alex rapped on the door, smiling as Jack's familiar voice called out, "Coming!"

As the door opened, Alex stepped into the house and kicked off his shoes, pausing to give Jack a hug. Returning it, she remarked, "You're certainly in a better mood than you were before, you nincompoop. What's got you so happy?" Her cheerful grin faltered a little as she took in the blonde standing on the doorstep. "Who's this?"

Alex paused nervously, anxious as to how the two women would get along. They sized each other up, each carefully scrutinizing the other, although Kamille was perhaps les blatant about it. Finally, Jack extended her hand. "Jack Starbright."

Kamille suddenly grabbed Jack's hand before pulling her into a hug. "Jack!" she exclaimed loudly. "It's so good to see you again!" Kamille's hug was so enthusiastic that Jack tumbled backwards, allowing Alex to quickly shut the door.

Once inside, Kamille let go. "Sorry about that," she muttered. "But I couldn't let the neighborhood think that was our first time meeting. I hope Alex explained everything to you?"

Jack frowned. "He did. I can't say I'm happy about it, but if it gets those horrid Scorpions to ease up, then I say go ahead. Still, I'd like to hear exactly how you knew Ian."

"It's a long story," Kamille offered. "Perhaps another time?"

"Oh, I've got plenty of time," Jack parried. Sit down at the table, won't you?"

Alex smirked. _Poor Kamille_. _She has no idea what she's in for._ He started towards his room, only to stop as he heard Kamille shriek, "What the hell is that on the table?"

* * *

Over three pages and 1500 words! Aren't you proud of me?

I know there wasn't a lot of action or Yassen, but never fear! They're both coming up soon… Action's all well and good, but you need explanations to understand what's going on. And I hope that the characters seem somewhat real rather than flat or static and that I'm doing Anthony Horowitz's characters justice.

This was a pretty quick update. I've got so much more time on my hands during the holidays… now if only my entire life could be one!

Dedicated to prone2dementia (oh look, I mentioned you again), whose super-awesome review spurred me to write this all in one sitting.


	5. Chapter 5

DISCLAIMER: The great and mighty Anthony Horowitz owns all that you recognize.

* * *

_He started towards his room, only to stop as he heard Kamille shriek, "What the hell is that on the table?"_

Chuckling, Alex remembered that he had left that hideous sweater from Sabina on the table and was amused to find that it was bad enough to elicit a response from Kamille, who had seemed unflappable. Deciding that he would much rather hear how his stocky aunt had known his uncle – and possibly have a few opportunities to embarrass her in the future – Alex changed his course and returned to the kitchen. Jack had mercifully taken the fuzzy monstrosity away so as not to cause any further psychological damage to anyone in the household.

"I'm not late for story time, am I?" he quipped, strolling into the kitchen with a smile tugging at his lips. He had worried that he was bipolar at first, what with his sudden mood swings, but Jack had assured him that it was all a normal part of growing up. Alex seated himself on the counter, far enough to have time to react if either woman attempted to swat at him from the table but close enough to hear every word.

"Very funny, Alex." Jack elbowed him as she came around with two mugs of something, miraculously managing not to spill either. She set them on the table. "Kamille, was it? Did you want anything else?" Jack was still wary, Alex noted. The redhead wasn't sure how to react to the unsettling blonde.

"I'm quite fine, thank you. Are you sure you haven't got anything stronger?" Kamille asked. She seemed less the impenetrable wall and more the tired worker come home. Alex wondered if the sudden openness on her face was for Jack's benefit or another's. _Hopefully the former. The thought of anyone watching our house is just creepy._

"Well?" Jack had an expectant look on her face.

"Oh!" Kamille jumped up. "I'll be right back!" They heard the front door slam shut.

Alex certainly hadn't expected that. He turned to look at Jack, the surprise clearly evident on his face. "We're not going to see her again, are we?" he asked.

"Never fear, nephew dear. I've faced down innumerable dangers, all much scarier than Jack – though I'm sure that's just her being nice," Kamille amended after seeing the fierce look on said woman's face. "I actually did remember something rather important. Here," and she pushed a thin package across the table to Jack, "Open this later. Can't stand the sentimental stuff." Jack looked at her curiously, but wisely remained silent.

Alex was impatient. "Enough stalling, _Auntie_. How'd you know Ian?"

"I'm not stalling," Kamille snapped.

"Are too," Alex shot back. "You're doing it right now."

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am… fine." Kamille grumbled something about pesky relatives for a moment. "Now, before I begin, Jack, you may not attack me until after I am done speaking."

"What do you think, Alex, should I attack her just for saying that?"

"Really!" Kamille grumbled again, this time about temperamental redheads. "Might I finally begin now? Has the peanut gallery had its fill?" When no further comments were heard from said peanut gallery, she began her tale. "We met after Helen and John started seeing each other. There was a mutual attraction. It didn't work out. We decided we were better off as friends. The end."

"Oh really?" Jack was eyeing her like a predator about to strike. "Is that all?"

"It's nicely succinct," Alex supplied from his perch.

"Yes, that's all," Kamille emphasized. "Look, Helen and I thought it would be cool if we could do the whole 'two brothers married two sisters' thing. But there was nothing there once the initial spark wore off except friendship." She looked annoyed. "Happy now?"

"Very." Alex looked quite pleased with himself.

Jack, however, remained suspicious, uncharacteristically so. "I'll get the full story out of you yet," she stated. The redhead picked up the package Kamille had brought and flounced out of the room.

Kamille looked at Alex. "So, where's my room?"

* * *

Jack's highly suspicious and unnatural suspicion was due to jealousy rather than any real distrust of Kamille. She had had a little thing for Ian (though Alex _certainly_ didn't need to know that) and had bristled at the thought of another woman in his life. _Although_, a little voice at the back of her mind said, _there could've been loads of women that he seduced. For the job, of course…_ She pushed those thoughts away and stared at the package in her hand, unable to figure out what it contained. Finally unable to wait any longer, she tore open the simple brown wrapping.

It was a picture. More accurately, it was the back of a frame which probably contained a picture. Jack tenderly held the frame up to the light, reading the brief note in Ian's familiar hand.

_Forever and always, my darling. I love you._

She carefully turned the frame over. Inside was a very old picture, just the two of them. Ian was grinning at her, almost directly facing the camera. She had her eyes closed and her mouth open, apparently laughing. She remembered he had suddenly shown up for a few hours while Alex was in school and had pulled her out of the house, claiming he had something important to show her. It had turned out to be nothing, but later, they had gone for a walk in the park. There had been a photographer there, she remembered, but she had no idea how Ian had managed to track him down and get a copy of the photo. After standing the photo on the dresser, she threw herself down on the bed and had one final cry over Ian.

* * *

The master suite, Kamille reflected, was not very masterful. It was bare, having been stripped of everything even slightly incriminating after Ian's death. A musty silence hung in the air. The only pieces of furniture in the room were a bed and a bare desk. _At least they left loo untouched._ Alex had kindly brought her bag up, claiming he needed the exercise, and now it sat forlornly in one corner of the room. "The first thing we are going to do, Alex," she announced as she heard the boy come in behind her, "is buy some paint and make this room less depressing. A crème background with dark green accents, perhaps?"

A mouth blew softly behind her ear. "You know I always did think you had a wonderful eye for color."

Kamille twisted slightly and dropped to the floor, swinging her legs beneath her to sweep the intruder to the floor. He landed softly, telling her he was formally trained as well. _Who? Who knew I was here? Even the board doesn't know!_ Wasting no time, she lunged for her attacker, tackling him with enough force that he exhaled loudly, the air shoved from his lungs. He fought back, elbowing her sternum. She rolled off of him and leapt to her feet, crouching slightly and blinking to clear her vision.

The icy eyes of Yassen Gregorovich stared at her, carefully evaluating her. "You know how to give a hell of a greeting," he spat. "Is that how you greet all of your coworkers?"

Kamille forced herself to calm her breathing and to straighten up. "You know my philosophy, Gregorovich, shoot first and ask questions later." She turned away to straighten her clothes. "You finished your mission in Israel rather quickly."

"You gave me a rather easy one." He moved to stand behind her. "I thought I'd drop by headquarters and surprise you. But," here he grabbed her wrist and spun her around, twisting her arm behind her back, "imagine my surprise to hear chatter of you here, in England of all places. So, my dear, just what are you up to now?" He bent to nuzzle her neck. "Hmmm?"

Kamille freed her arm and shoved Yassen away. "I've told you several times I will not accept that sort of behavior from my associates, not even from you," she snapped, haughtily holding up her head.

He raised an eyebrow. "And yet you've never actually done anything about it," he murmured. "I won't ask again. What are you doing here?"

"Nothing that you happen to be privy to," Kamille retorted. "That's between me and Zeljan."

"I'm sure it is." Now he had the mocking, teasing voice she had used with Alex less than an hour ago. "A surprise for you, dearest. Our esteemed Kurst sent me himself, to find out what you were doing with Rider." His eyes narrowed. "Since when have you been on a first-name basis with the head?"

Ignoring the last question, Kamille moved to the door. "I will speak with Zeljan," she emphasized the name, "and Zeljan alone. Leave. Now."

"If only you were that lucky." Yassen smirked, anticipating Kamille's reaction to his next words. "Kurst is coming here himself. I'm to remain with you until then; you've been rather suspect of late, saving Rider from the triad. Why would you ever do that?"

"Perhaps to put the boy in our debt? To play upon his sense of honor and allow us to infiltrate MI6 even further?" Kamille resisted the urge to rub her cheek, scar itching as she became more irritated. "Do not try to understand the complexities of my mind."

The assassin stalked toward her, lithe as a cat. "There was a time," he purred, "you wanted me to understand the words behind your words, to understand _you_."

"That time is long past," she hissed.

"Nevertheless," Yassen replied, "I'll stay here with you until Kurst arrives to determine what you're really up to."

* * *

Meanwhile, Alex had his own problems. While Jack was busy crying and Kamille was busy deceiving Scorpia, MI6, and the bug the Mossad had planted on Yassen, Alex could not figure out how to use the can opener. Sure, he could learn how to use various gadgets in under ten seconds, but kitchen appliances were beyond his grasp. "Damnit!" he cried after dropping the tin of tuna for the third time. He huffed angrily, "I give up! All I wanted was to make some damn tuna salad!"

"Language, Mr. Rider," a mid-European voice gently chided. "Such foul words are unbecoming in one so young."

Alex spun around. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded. "And what are you doing in my house?"

The man was a brute. His thick lips and coarse features were a nod to his Yugoslavian ancestry. "Zeljan Kurst, Mr. Rider. I must say, the board was very impressed, if a bit displeased, with your feats thus far. But I'm afraid I haven't come to try to recruit you; I've come to see Jack's friend."

"Friend?" Alex's mind raced. _What was Kurst talking about, and who had sent him?_ It was a test, he realized. Kurst had somehow found out Kamille's cover story and was checking to see if that was what she really was doing. "I assume you're from Scorpia?" he asked.

Kurst nodded. "Then you know who I am really here for," he told Alex. "I must say, you don't appear to have been beaten into submission."

Alex was saved from himself when Kamille appeared, effectively stopping a retort that would have certainly angered Kurst. Her face was emotionless. "Zeljan," she began. "Might I introduce our latest level of penetration into MI6?"

* * *

Hurrah! Yassen has appeared! I've tried to stay close to his characterization, as dark and twisted as it may be. Also, fight scene! Concrit on writing those would be much appreciated.

This seemed as good a stopping point as any, so guess what? I stopped. A couple of points, though:

One reviewer was confused by the rapid scene changes in the earlier chapters. This separation is quite deliberate. Alex is confused and unsure if the event he experienced are real, hence his asking what day it is in Chapter 3.

Also, my mention of a "package" in Chapter 1 confused some people as well. That package was Alex; Big Circle was expecting Alex to arrive, but he never did. Kamille was expecting Alex to arrive after she did whatever she did (even I don't know) to divert the package.

Last but not least: Zeljan Kurst is canon, and I'm looking forward to expanding upon his characterization. Thoughts as to what you think he'd be like?

Concrit and reviews are welcome as always, and thanks to all of my lovely reviewers!

-AQ


	6. Chapter 6

DISCLAIMER: The great and mighty Anthony Horowitz owns all that you recognize.

* * *

"_Zeljan," she began. "Might I introduce our latest level of penetration into MI6?"_

Kurst looked at Kamille steadily. "Explain," he commanded. "Immediately."

Kamille began to speak, but a drawling voice interrupted her. "I believe, Mr. Kurst," the blond assassin started, "that it would be best if Rider were not around to hear the explanation. Merely a precaution should he decide to inform MI6 of our plans."

Kamille would have sighed with relief were it not for her training. Yassen had provided her with a way to keep Alex from hearing several things he was not quite ready to hear yet. Still, she couldn't agree with the idea, lest she seem too eager to have her nephew leave. "Afraid the boy might manage to surprise you?" she mocked, smirking when she saw Yassen hold back a snarl.

Kurst frowned at her. "Must you disagree with him merely for the sake of disagreeing?" he asked. Turning to Yassen, he continued, "It is a wise idea, Gregorovich. Kindly escort Mr. Rider to another room."

Yassen's face betrayed nothing, but it was clear he was displeased he would not be able to hear Kamille's explanation. "Of course, Mr. Kurst. I will make sure he and the American housekeeper will not interfere." He pushed Alex slightly, and they left the room.

Zeljan Kurst turned his muddy eyes to Kamille. "Well?"

* * *

Alex was rather upset at the turn of events. Here he was being frog-marched around in his own house, and there was nothing he could do that without seriously risking Jack's life. Kamille he wasn't too worried about; she could handle herself well enough if she had managed to remain undiscovered for eight years. Making a snap decision, he whirled around, striking at empty air. Yassen had anticipated his move and had dodged his blow. Alex struck again, aiming for Yassen's gut, but the assassin blocked his chop and struck Alex's jaw squarely. Alex reeled, hitting the wall with his back, and slid down.

Yassen towered over him. "That was foolish," he reprimanded, as if he were a teacher and Alex his student.

Alex rubbed his jaw. "Can you blame me for trying?"

Yassen regarded the boy at his feet. "Not really," he admitted. "I would have done the same thing had I been in your position."

"Well then," Alex grumbled, "I suppose you would have failed, too."

"That is where you're wrong, Alex. I would have succeeded." Yassen helped Alex up and pushed him into the next room before letting himself in and closing the door behind him.

"I warned you to leave this business," Yassen told Alex. "It is no place for children."

Alex sat down on the floor and shrugged. He was beginning to realize that he had been rather lucky in his previous missions, that he hadn't really seen the extent to which corruption and evil ran in people's veins. "So how did you manage to survive?" he asked, changing the subject.

Yassen did not fail to notice the abrupt shift in conversation, but he kept his observation to himself. "Rothman," he replied shortly, sitting on the floor himself.

Alex raised his eyebrow, clearly waiting for the rest.

Yassen glared directly back, clearly not about to continue.

They remained this way until Kamille came to get them.

* * *

"Well," Kamille carefully began, "one of our contacts in Beijing reported that he had picked up chatter concerning the Rider boy. Big Circle was planning to make a move. I knew the committee had specifically marked Rider as a person of interest, and felt it would be good to intercept his transport and eventually manipulate his feelings to our advantage so he gives us access to files I don't have access to, maybe even send him to do some of our work under the guise of an MI6 mission."

"And you're certain this is not because you found out he was your nephew?"

"Please." Kamille looked affronted for a moment. "Give me a little more credit. I despise children, whether or not they happen to be a distant relation of mine."

Kurst eyed her, evaluating her words. "And does he know you are his aunt?"

Kamille smirked. "All part of the plan, Zeljan. Of course I told him. Now the idiot trusts me completely and believes that I'm a deep cover MI6 agent who's managed to infiltrate Scorpia. Blunt seemed to be slightly suspicious because I hadn't contacted him for a while; the Rider brat provides the perfect reassurance."

Zeljan smiled, an ugly grin on his lips. "Excellent work, Beckett. I will continue to treat you suspiciously for MI6's benefit. By the time those British fools realize exactly what you've done, it will be too late."

* * *

A knock sounded at the door. Yassen easily stood up, while Alex clambered painfully to his feet. Sitting on the floor for the better part of an hour hurt a lot more than he thought it would, and he briefly wondered how it was that the older man had managed to get up normally.

Kamille walked in. "Zeljan wants to see you," she said to Yassen who nodded and strode out. She closed the door and closed her eyes briefly before opening them again. "How are you, Alex?" she greeted him.

"Well enough, if you don't mind the company of a silent assassin for an hour," he joked, attempting to erase the frown she wore.

"Fair enough," she smiled, turning toward a closet from which muffled thumps were beginning to be heard. Kamille opened the door to find a bound Jack turning red as she flopped about. She slipped a knife out from somewhere – Alex idly wondered how many more she had on her – and began to slice through the tough nylon fishing line Yassen had wrapped the American's hands and feet with. Alex removed the gag from Jack's mouth and watched as Jack sighed in relief.

"So," he asked after everyone was settled on the floor, "did they suspect anything?"

"Not a thing, Alex." Kamille smiled, stretching slightly. "I think Yassen may still suspect something, but I definitely fooled Kurst. I just said that I threatened the two of you, so just act like you dislike me whenever someone else comes around. Other than that, we're good to go."

Jack was still slightly groggy. "Does this mean we need to pretend you beat us daily or something?"

"Not at all," Kamille told her. "Surly and rebellious is good, but be a little nervous, too." She was about to continue with more instructions, but Yassen and Kurst silently came through the door.

Kurst looked at Alex with distaste clearly evident in his eyes. "Mr. Rider, you will continue to supply us with information. Should you fail to keep up with our demands, we will not hesitate to kill your housekeeper." He stooped until his eyes were even with Alex's. "Am I clear?"

Alex nodded, playing the role of a frightened but defiant boy.

Kurst turned to Kamille. "Gregorovich will be keeping an eye on you," he informed her. Kamille's brows shot up, but she said nothing. With that, he nodded to all the occupants of the room. "I'll see myself out."

Once he was gone, Yassen turned to Kamille. "It seems we'll be spending a lot more time together," he purred.

Kamille opened her mouth to sharply retort, but Alex decided to act like a typical teenager and gag in disgust. "Could you two please get a room and keep your twisted desires there?" he choked out.

Yassen looked at the blond boy and raised an eyebrow, but said nothing in response. Instead, he informed Kamille, "I'm going to go set up a perimeter to keep any unwanted agents out," before stalking out of the room.

Kamille opened her mouth to explain the scene to Alex, but he interrupted her again. "I get it," he told her. "It's all for the job, right?"

"Not exactly," she replied. "It _was_ for the job. Now he is of no use to me, so there's nothing going on, although he would like to think there is. The arrogant ass," she finished.

"You seem to go through a lot of men," Jack remarked acidly.

"I do what I do to keep my country safe," Kamille retorted, equally vituperative.

Alex rubbed his forehead. Two catty females and a deadly assassin would make for an interesting holiday.

* * *

Yassen strolled outside, feigning casualness as he studied the surrounding area. A movement caught his eye, and he directed his footsteps toward the neighboring house. A figure emerged from the back door and raised an arm in greeting. Yassen nodded and continued down the street, looking for his contact. He finally found the man in a car in front of a house on the other side of the road. The mercenary rapped on the window.

It rolled down, and an Israeli voice whispered, "Shalom."

Yassen rolled his eyes, something he would never do in front of anyone else, and slid into the back seat. "You know I really don't believe in that cloak-and-dagger nonsense."

The man chuckled hoarsely. "It is the Mossad way, Gregorovich. Do they suspect?"

He shook his head. "You had no trouble locating the transmitter?" He plucked a small orb no bigger than his pinky out of his pocket and handed the bug over.

"None. There are no protections on that house at all. MI6 is cheap."

"Scorpia is not," Yassen reminded him. "Do this properly and you will be handsomely rewarded. Remember, it must look like a Mossad kill."

His contact chuckled. "Must I remind you who I normally work for? It will be done."

* * *

Unbeknownst to both Yassen and the Mossad operative who moonlighted for Scorpia, another agent was in the area. Ben Daniels, known to his fellow members of K-Unit, had been dispatched by Alan Blunt to check up on Kamille. Adjusting the watch on his wrist, he knocked on the door of the Rider residence.

"Hello Ben." Alex had opened the door and ushered him in. "Why're you here?"

"I was in the neighborhood," Daniels replied. Once the door had closed behind him, he took his coat off and hung it on the stand. "Actually, I'm here for Kamille. I had no idea she lived with you."

"She didn't until recently," Alex admitted. "Does this mean you're her handler?"

"Technically, yes," Fox acquiesced. "But I wouldn't go using that word around her. She adamantly refuses to be 'handled' by anyone."

"Ben!" Kamille's voice exclaimed. "Good to see you again." She leaned against the doorway and briefly grinned before sobering. "Why are you here?" she hissed. "You're in serious danger."

"Don't worry, I know Gregorovich is out of the house," he reassured her. "I saw him meeting someone. How'd you know he would be staying here?"

Kamille frowned internally. That was probably his Mossad contact; hopefully they were discussing the hit on the Scorpia defector. She had warned him that people would notice, she just hadn't expected it to be MI6. _Damn!_

"Kurst doesn't trust me," she said airily, reverting to the head of Scorpia's last name in an effort to express her disgust for the man. "I'm not going to have much of a chance to pass anything along, much less Scorpia's plans. I'll just do my best to get in the way without arousing suspicion."

Daniels nodded. "Sounds like a plan to me." He opened the door and left, quickly looking both left and right before going to his car and driving away.

Alex turned to her, curious. "Why would Yassen leave?"

_Shit_. Kamille hadn't anticipated that the youth would be observant and so full of questions. "When he says 'checking the perimeter,' he usually looks around a hundred meter radius," she explained, hoping to satisfy Alex's curiosity. To her relief, he accepted the excuse without any further questions. _It's a good thing he's beginning to trust me, or this would never work_.

* * *

Well? Where do you think this is going? I'd love to hear feedback. Ideas you might have about the plot?

2000+ words hooray!


	7. Chapter 7

_Back in the car…_

"Here," Yassen murmured, slipping a thin envelope out from the inner lining of his jacket. "Everything you need to know." He passed the folder to his Mossad contact.

The man examined the flap of the envelope, checking to make sure that it had not been tampered with in any way. "You have not opened it? You have no idea what is inside?" he queried.

"None," the blond assassin replied, tight lipped. It bothered him that Kurst hadn't trusted him with that information, but he was careful not to let the anger show on his face. "The contents haven't been gazed upon since Zeljan Kurst placed them in there."

"Good," the agent crisply said. "Now go. I have preparations to make." He gestured with his hands.

Feeling annoyed, Yassen smoothly opened the car door and slid out of the seat. "Keep in touch," he reminded, imperiously gazing at the other man. He turned and strode down the street.

The Israeli chuckled raspily. "_L'chaim_, Yassen, however short it may be." He shifted in his seat, looking at the nondescript black bag partially hidden under the seat. "Let us begin."

The front door of the Rider house was flung open and slammed shut. _And yet, _Alex thought, _Yassen doesn't look angry, so why the dramatics?_

Kamille coolly leaned against the doorframe. "No problems, I hope?"

"None at all," the mercenary ground out. "I am getting rather tired of being left out of the loop, though." He stalked to where Kamille stood, staring at her as if trying to peel away the icy façade that had lowered the temperature in the room. Kamille turned and calmly looked at him, daring him to do something, anything. He continued to glower, moving his body so that he fairly straddled her legs. "Care to enlighten me?"

Alex stifled a laugh. Two pairs of eyes snapped towards him. "Jack's calling me, better go," the youth supplied before quickly leaving.

The Mossad operative quickly set up his sniper rifle, lovingly caressing each part as he snapped the pieces together. He kept an eye on the two figures in the window.

"Well, Kamille? Are you going to finally tell me what game you're really playing?" Yassen ran a finger down her cheek, the other hand cradling her chin.

The agent gently placed his finger on the trigger and his eye next to the sight, settling into a comfortable position to ensure absolute stillness.

"I believe I've told you everything you need to know." Steel met ice and lingered for a moment. "And get your hands off of me."

Yassen sneered. "There was a time…"

"Yes, yes," she interrupted. "You would do well to remember that time is gone."

The Israeli's finger slowly tightened on the trigger. The two figures hadn't moved.

Yassen smirked now. "And what will you do if I don't remove my hands?"

Kamille shoved him, hard.

The trigger clicked twice, sending two bullets spiraling out of the barrel.

The pair tumbled to the floor.

"A job well done, Ari" the agent congratulated himself.

"You say that after you've cleanly escaped," a voice chided. The agent heard a shot and belatedly realized his imminent death was coming more quickly than he thought. _L'chaim…_

Ben Daniels rolled the body over with his toe. "Blunt will want to know about this."

Kamille heard the glass shatter a moment before it tinkled to the floor. At that moment she was quite happy to have let her temper get the better of her. If not for her brief lapse in self control both she and her lascivious lackey would be dead. _Let's figure out who might be trying to kill me this time…_

Yassen sat up, clearly miffed. "Woman, if you think you can rid yourself of me that easily, I'd suggest you think again. Though why you would then literally throw yourself at me is beyond my comprehension."

"Audacious as you are, I certainly wouldn't hire someone to kill you! I'd do it myself and enjoy every minute of ripping you to pieces with my hands," Kamille hissed. "Bastard." She brushed herself off and carefully stood, cataloguing herself for any serious injuries. She exhaled as she examined the two holes the bullets had drilled in the wall, noting how close they had been to her head and Yassen's chest before they fell. "Mossad bullets," she breathed.

Yassen shook his head, testing his inner ear equilibrium before rising. "I could've sworn I heard you blame the Mossad," he stated, raising one eyebrow in a silent question. He could think of only one person to blame this on.

"I did," Kamille bit back. "Did you damage your ears?"

Alex and Jack rushed in, with the boy waving a thin stick Yassen recognized as a bowstaff and the American brandishing a kitchen knife and the two of them screaming such things as "Prepare to die!" and "Take this, suckers!"

Needless to say, both Kamille and Yassen collapsed with laughter.

After sending Yassen to the store for some plywood and nails, Kamille reassured Alex and Jack. "I'm fine, we're both fine, really," she repeated. "Just don't get too concerned about me when Yassen's around. They think I'm forcing you to do this," she cautioned. "Now you two go make dinner or something. I'm going to patch the large hole in the wall when Yassen gets back."

"Chinese takeout okay?" Alex asked. "Jack wanted to hit the stores for the after Christmas sales."

"Sure," Kamille replied. "I'm assuming you'll be doing homework then?" At Alex's nod, she continued, "Excellent. I'll be napping."

* * *

It was dark when Yassen returned. Jack's purchases had been dumped in a corner, a new carton of milk sat in the fridge, and Alex was watching a movie with Jack. Yassen quietly let himself into the darkened house, carrying planks under one arm and a bag in the other.

"Where have you been?" Kamille's voice rose above the din coming from the telly. She stood up from the chair she had been waiting in and stretched languidly, walking to where Yassen stood. "How long does it take to get a few pieces of wood and some nails?"

The blond assassin said nothing, but merely looked at her before gingerly setting the wood and bag down. "Kurst," he rasped. "It was Kurst."

"What?" Kamille's pale eyebrows rose. "Are you sure?"

"I gave the files to Ari myself," Yassen croaked. "I hadn't opened the package, I thought it was just another job, but I found his body nearby with your file and my file and we were the targets and I gave him the package and the files and if you hadn't pushed me we'd both be dead and I had no idea…"

"Hush," Kamille commanded gently. In the half light she looked inhuman, with her scars and hair gleaming. "Sit." The pair sat on the floor together, looking out of the glassless window into the night.

* * *

"Morning." Yassen's rough voice broke into Kamille's thoughts, and she turned to look at him. He was stretched out on the floor, having fallen asleep at some point. "Did you sleep at all?"

"Of course," she lied. "Though I don't see why it matters."

"Listen." He broke off, avoiding Kamille's direct gaze. "I know yesterday wasn't… that is, we were both pretty shaken up, and…"

"Speak for yourself, you wimp," Kamille retorted snarkily, and Yassen understood that last night's events weren't up for discussion. In a way, he was glad; he had always prided himself on his composure, and talking about emotions just wasn't his thing.

"Fine," he bit back, inwardly glad that they had resumed their sniping. "Let's have sex." It was his way of distancing himself from the silent comfort they had given each other last night and the dangerous feelings bubbling beneath his calm exterior. _Hopefully she'll put last night down to wanting to get laid._

"You womanizing piece of crap," she spat. "I don't know what gets into you sometimes, you know that?" She stood up, relieved he wasn't attempting to talk about feelings. _Never let anyone see your very being._

"Good morning!" Alex chirruped.

Yassen groaned. "You are an annoying brat," he grumbled.

"Coffee, anyone?" Jack walked in with three cups of coffee in two hands – how she managed to do so mystified Kamille – and set one next to Yassen and the other next to Kamille. "I thought you might want some after spending the night on the floor."

Yassen eyed her suspiciously. "Did you put something in it?" he asked suspiciously. When Jack shook her head, he narrowed his eyes. "Why are you being so nice?"

"I've been thinking," Kamille interrupted.

"Thinking's dangerous for you," Alex playfully jabbed.

"Upstart." Kamille flapped a hand at the youth, deciding to ignore him. "We need to have a plan of action," she announced. "Call Blunt," she directed Alex.

"Blunt?" The Cossack raised one eyebrow. "What makes you think he'll help two Scorpia agents? One of whom is presumed dead, I might add."

"Well, Yassen…" Kamille trailed off, unsure of how to phrase what she wanted to say. She decided it was best to be direct in this case. "I actually work for MI6."

"Kurst told me you'd broken with them." The assassin carefully appraised her for any signs that might indicate what she was thinking.

"That's what I told him," Kamille replied, "but it's not true."

Yassen slowly stood up and faced Kamille. "You mean to say that you're a double agent?" he uttered in a low, dangerous tone.

"Erm…" Kamille had no idea what to say next. _I really should get some sleep, no matter what I see_. "No, not exactly."

Yassen's voice lowered even more. "Then what exactly are you?"

_Where are the lies, brain? Have you abandoned me now, of all times?_ "I really work for MI6, but I convinced Zeljan that I had Blunt convinced that I was feeding him information from Scorpia, but I told Zeljan the information was worthless, but it wasn't, so… that's it. I think I'm a quadruple agent." Kamille finished speaking and took a breath after her extremely convoluted sentence.

"Apparently you didn't do a good enough job convincing Kurst," Yassen coldly stated after a long moment of silence during which Alex and Jack tacitly retreated, "seeing as he sent someone to kill you and me, even though I'm not any sort of conniving agent." He turned to leave.

"What if I told you that John worked for MI6, too?" Kamille blurted out in a desperate attempt to keep the only person she could depend on with her.

"I would tell you that you were a lying, desperate bitch," he calmly said without turning around.

"Isn't there a little sliver of doubt somewhere in your mind?"

"No. The things he did – we did – weren't something a Sixer would do." Yassen opened the door.

"Oh really?" Kamille had regained control of herself now and was bringing her cool logic out in full force. "You thought I was a true Scorpia agent until I told you otherwise. I've done things that are much, much worse than what John did."

The blond assassin lingered in the doorway.

"And," Kamille continued with a calculated recklessness, "John set up that raid in Malta, where you were to be captured, only you weren't. How do you think those agents knew exactly where you two would be? At least a quarter of the assignments you two went on were made to seem as if you'd succeeded. John would warn MI6 about the big jobs and they'd set it all up so that no one of any real importance died. You were working for us at times and you didn't even know it, Yassen."

Suddenly Yassen slammed the door and grabbed Kamille's wrist. "Give me proof," he whispered. "Give me proof that John worked for MI6 and I will go with you. But if this is a trap, I will hunt you past the day Hell freezes over. I will be the face in every one of your dreams and nightmares, and I will make you afraid to sleep. You won't be able to escape me."

"Too late," she whispered. "Too late. I'm already afraid to sleep."

"You foolish bint," he whispered in reply. He pulled her to him. His lips crashed onto hers, a quick, hard kiss passing between them. "Get some sleep. I'll be back with my things, and then I'll decide what to do with you." He let her go and whirled out the door.

Kamille staggered up the stairs, avoiding Alex's questioning looks and Jack's comforting eyes. She collapsed on the bed in the bare master suite, giving in to the exhaustion that comes from having little of her tormented sleep. Her dreams were filled with exploding planes and cold eyes looking at her from every angle.

A short while later she felt a weight drop onto the bed beside her. "Ash planted a bomb on the plane Helen and John were in per Rothman's orders," she murmured. A pair of arms encircled her as she fell asleep once again. This time, her sleep was dream-free.

* * *

I'm back! This chapter was written a line or two at a time over the past few months. I've been incredibly busy but I finally got it finished and up. Anyway, I had really intended to use Alex and Jack more, but the scenes wrote themselves, so they will definitely be getting more face time in the next chap.

Also, thoughts about the ending? Too sappy? I tried to stay true to Yassen's characterization, but like I said before, the scenes wrote themselves. I'd love to hear lots of feedback, so please please review! I wrote over 2300 words this time!

-AQ


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